my likely set of eyes, hovering flotsam over gene pool. just checking on my connection. whether that needs some juice or maybe a bit of interference. overseas on a trip for my day job. the scattered eloquent float along their snaked catchery. did you ever wonder how day jobs make you focus on the mirror you use to catch your droppings. better yet, how easy it is to drop punctuation from fluid ink. and here we are at the eighth sentence with no clue as to subject or meter. do I speak to my ears now. give me a week or so.

there is a larger theme approaching split into two. I'm warning you, there is something to mine out of calamity-heft. tune in. meanwhile. the church bell strikes six gongs. a clean buzz in a safety-orange zoot suit wipes the street. dawn over a swiss slice. a tiny town under snow-capped mountains. the lake releases another moon. how quaint. hello sun. time to catch you again. throw you into cyber-land. let the notes that know you hear you once around the world again. hello familia. the inter-weave of laptop thievery helped us connect last night no. with do they survive, you said. no sabé, i said.

picture a room. an old hotel. a maid that turns the bed for you whether you need it or not. picture a meeting room. a mid-hour bell strike. a continental breakfast for 20 of your mates. an embarrassment of coffee. a chore. a charge. to come up with a tagline for a product you don't use. a sequence of words that sum up a philosophical ideal. one line out of a haiku. that would appear next to a company's logo. thereby enriching the design of a collection of shapes that sum up a logo. summing up to another ideal. forming a congealed belief. oh, and were you happy to leave without service. pardon, just had to squeeze that out.

picture a human machine. a moving part out of sync. a swan. under a bridge of swans. a sea of pads and magic markers. a hope to crack the assignment. to satisfy the benefactor. to be grateful. to dive through one hundred bits of paper. to filter and glean the one thought out of the many. to listen through olfactory scintillas. to hear below the drink.

hello day job. why i stay on your visual side and not your writing separate soul from wallet, no offense. tell me, how much more to add, to the over-info we're in already. how many airwaves are left to fill with direction. do this do that, now right now. look here and i'll tell you something. look there and i'll tell you something. no empty safe. how quaint. how many rooms-of-20 have contributed to all the slogans that bombard. the clock strikes seven.

the terrace opens against a postcard backdrop. where is the friction in a picture-perfect view. the answer to this guided mass...human connection. that's all we want. reach me. penetrate the cortex. stroll across the cyber-waves. the quilted imagistic. the photographic entrails. the inter-leavenings of multiple hearts. all the souls that say i'm here. picture a bit of thanks. before it forgets you. a bit of remember. a marble interior that rises to greet you. on your way out. picture the scrap left behind. the pads and cups. the telling vibrations from shared quarters. the loss of sleep towards undefinable goals. the happy client. the successful venture. the pressure. if money were involved, i never would have bought you that drink. in an english accent. to the dominican. deciphering french. picture a way out, by answering the door. hello home. did i tell you how much i miss you. and were you focused or just listening.

Originally Published: November 26th, 2009

A self-proclaimed “lingualisualist” rooted in the languages of sight and sound, Edwin Torres was born in the Bronx and is a longtime resident of New York City. He is a poet whose highly acclaimed performances and live shows combine vocal and physical improvisation and theater. He is the author of...